One-shots That Did Not Make Varric's Final Cut
by VaultEscapeArtist
Summary: A series of one-shots from the Dragon Age universe.
1. Unlike Cats I Don't Have 9 Lives

**Unlike Cats I don't Have Nine Lives**

**Dragon Age II**

**(Aggressive) Garrett HawkeXAnders **

* * *

><p>"Anders." Garrett Hawke had a nice timber to his voice when he was relaxed or in a good mood, but those instances where becoming rarer with each passing day. As a result his pleasant voice became a sharp, irritated bark. It was an order to snap to attention, which Anders followed unknowingly without thinking.<p>

"Hawke," Anders answered, surprised. The mage had never been one to take commands, especially those that were barked at him, but he trusted Hawke. As long as Anders had known Hawke the man had been an unrelenting force, bowing to no one as he made the climb from Lothering peasant to Champion of Kirkwall. Anders had assumed he and Hawke would never see eye to eye, despite them both being apostates. Hawke _should_ have understood the Circle mages' plight, he _should_ have sympathized. But where Anders thought he would have found an ally he instead found a man more intent on digging his family out of poverty. The most Hawke did for Anders' cause was to point out misspellings in his manifesto.

There was no denying that for Hawke family had always come first. But due to recent events that was no longer the case. There was no longer a Hawke "family"; there was just Hawke.

Anders was distracted from Hawke's approaching form by Merrill behind him who was "oohing" over a rather nasty leg wound of one of the patient's. Hoping she didn't start poking it, Anders returned his gaze to Hawke's brutish form. Circle mages tended to be smaller and more slender, a result of life on the run and having their meals denied by the templars. But Hawke wasn't one to flee or retreat _ever_. He was a protector who no longer had anything to protect.

"Take this." Hawke interrupted his thoughts by abruptly shoving a squirming package into Anders' arms. "I cannot be rid of it soon enough."

"Wait...Is this a gift?" Anders couldn't hide his shock as he began carefully opening the small bundle of cloth and blankets that Hawke had thrust upon him.

Hawke snorted contemptuously. "It's a _burden_, more than anything."

There was a tiny, pitiful mewing sound and Anders silently removed a tiny, weak black kitten from the mess of blankets. "It's a _kitten_."

"Correct," Hawke answered and turned to leave. Anders grabbed at his arm, ignoring the glare Hawke shot him as he looked back over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"You're giving this to me?"

"I could always take it back and feed it to my dog. Which I will do if you keep trying to make a blighted big deal out of this." Hawke could have walked away then, but he faced Anders and tried to downplay his actions again. "I mean, I was just tired of it clawing at my door at night. And the bloody nobles in Hightown kept complaining about the damn cat." Hawke gave a piss poor imitation of an Orlesian accent. "Oh, that animal is so _filthy_. What _diseases_ it must carry! Ser Hawke, you _must_ rid us of this _beast_."

Anders knew Hawke was trying to make a joke but it was so out of character that he was too stunned to laugh. Hawke narrowed his eyes. "Oh, that's right. I forgot. According to Isabela and Varric I'm not funny." His dark eyes glanced down at the kitten Anders was now petting. "It was nothing, Anders. Do not think on it."

"Oh, Hawke, That's not true. Tell him how you chased that cat all around Hightown before you caught him on the Comte de Launcet's roof-"

"_Merrill_!" Hawke snapped at her and started leading Merrill and the rest of his team out of Anders' clinic. "This time your babbling is _not_ appreciated."

Anders glanced down at the kitten, inspecting it for the first time. It was small, too small, and he saw how frantically its heart beat inside of its chest. The kitten was too _everything_...too fragile, too weak...It would not last long.

Hawke stopped by a few days later and found Anders outside the clinic sitting down with the deathly still kitten in his lap. He felt a twinge of guilt until Anders said quietly, "It's not your fault, Hawke."

Well, those were words that have never left Leandra's mouth. Hawke felt himself ready to snap at Anders, but he tried to be more sympathetic. "I knew it was in bad shape. I just thought you could fix it. That's what you do. You fix things."

"I appreciate the thought, Hawke. He-he almost made it..." Anders broke off in a sigh. There was already so much grief in him that the death of one kitten made little difference. Well, it made some difference.

Hawke knelt down on one knee next to him. "I am sorry." He watched Anders place the kitten inside of a small grave he had dug, judging from his dirtier than normal fingernails, with his own hands. "At least he was cared for instead of being kicked at by nobles. He died safe, full, and warm...He was loved when he passed which is more than I'll be able to say for myself when it's my turn."

"_You_ won't die alone, Hawke." Why would the man come to that conclusion? He got their ragtag team to work together for his cause. How could he think they would all abandon him so quickly?

"_Really_? How likely is it that I'll die in you-someone's arms?"

Anders was silent, pondering his words while Hawke helped him cover the grave with soil. "How do you think you will die?"

"Face forward in the mud, with a sword in my back that was placed there by the young, desperate mercenary that I used to be. There will be another strutting around in my armor until it is their turn to be slain."

Hawke didn't flinch away when Anders gently touched his shoulder, but Anders could see that he wanted to. "I don't think Varric would appreciate you dreaming up such a dull ending for his Champion. According to him it will take no less than three ogres and a couple of arch-demons to take you down."

His attempt at humor bounced off Hawke like arrows off an ogre. "Varric talks far too much."

There was no argument there. "Hawke," Anders said slowly, pausing to try to read the Champion's eyes which for once were, not full of, but hinted at emotion. "The only way that bastard would get you is if he crawled over my dead body."

Hawke looked away, standing up and brushing his dark hair into a less messy shape. "I am sorry about the cat. I didn't want it to turn out like this."

"I know, Hawke."

"I just wanted..." Hawke had started to reveal something private and tender, but he found he couldn't find his voice. The rest he finished inside his head. _I can't heal, like you can. Even the simplest of healing spells are beyond my skill. When you're fighting with us, the others are falling to pieces and I can't do a damn thing. I'm tired of killing being my only option. I wanted to save something for once._

Anders was trying to get his attention. Hawke reverted back to normal. He gave the tiny grave a glance and growled. "I thought they had nine lives."

"You climbed the _Comte de Launcet's roof _to get me a kitten. That's not a question. I had it confirmed by a few of Varric's sources. They said half the nobles in Kirkwall had gathered to watch."

"That's because they had nothing better to do than watch me fall off a roof twice."

Sensing a sudden change in Hawke's mood, Anders laughed quietly. "_Twice_? How did-"

Hawke wasn't a gentle kisser. He smashed his mouth against Anders' own and pulled away just as quickly. "You misspelled your own name on page forty-seven of your manifesto. I thought you should know."

Anders' eyes fluttered back open. "Hawke..."

"I suppose I'll see you later tonight, won't I?" Hawke was all business once more. "And _don't_ bring your manifesto. It'll ruin the mood." He paused for a moment at the doorway, wanting to say just one last thing before he left. "And, thanks. Not for...I meant for your words. If _I_ had nine lines, well, it wouldn't be so terrible if I had to spend them with you."

Anders realized he had been right before. He hadn't found a simple ally in Hawke; evidently there was something more there than an overly aggressive mercenar


	2. Stitches

**Stitched **

**Dragon Age 2**

**F!Hawke/Fenris **

**Summary: **Set right before Danarius ambushes Fenris in the Hanged Man. Danarius wants what he claims is his back and is smart enough to cripple Fenris's greatest ally before he goes after the escaped slave.

**A/N: **Warning! Major Character Deaths. If you don't want to feel sad, then you probably shouldn't read on. Just wanted to be upfront about that.

I had this idea a long while ago but I figured it had been overdone. So far I haven't seen it, not to say it's not out there, but I'm going to write this anyway. I'll probably rewrite this eventually. When I'm not so tired.

Also, have I mentioned how mUCH I HATE DANARIUS?

* * *

><p>At the quiet mention of his sister's arrival, Hawke wonders how many years it will take to convince Fenris that she is wholeheartedly on his side. She's known the elf for a long time now, but still when he feels safe enough to ask something of her his eyes always shoot down first and then up, filled with such heartbreaking vulnerability before he finally forms the words.<p>

"It would mean a lot to me. That's all I ask."

She struggles for a second, trying to find a way to make this easier for him. She smiles, a ridiculous, toothy grin and she replies, "Of course, Fenris. I know I may not be the best example for sibling relationships, let's not mention Carver, shall we?, but I'll do what I can. If you need anyone to make a terrible pun, I'll be _right_ there."

He nods once, stiffly and she knows it's time for her to leave. She always fears she lingers too long in his presence, especially after what had happened the night he stole away with one of her crimson handkerchiefs. So she smiles again and bows out, her mabari licking his gloved hand before following her outside.

As she walks the empty Hightown streets, realizing how late it has become, she attempts to envision Fenris's sister. A woman with those deep, green eyes would be dangerous. Half the men in Kirkwall would be besides themselves, throwing roses and dowries at her feet. The other half would be cursing their dumb luck for marrying so damn early.

Hawke suddenly laughs as the image of a brooding girl with Fenris's dark brows pops into her head next. Rebel, her dog, makes a happy barking sound to echo her laughter.

Her home is empty, as always. Orana and her dwarven friends have all gone to bed. _And rightfully so_, she yawns. As to not wake them, Hawke tiptoes silently up to her room. Her hand reaches for the door when Rebel bites into her ankle and drags her back.

"What are you _doing_, boy?" she hisses, trying to yank her ankle out of his vice-like grip. "That hurts!"

Rebel releases her, only to face her bedroom door and growl. Hawke's eyes widen, and she quickly summons as much mana as she can muster and blows her door wide open. Her door tears itself off its hinges and hits her bed on the other side of the room.

She brings flames to her hands in preparation for a fight, but she finds her room empty instead.

It doesn't stay that way.

Rebel's barking grows louder as fire and glowing lava appear in a large circle on her floor. A rage demon erupts out of it and, cursing her choice of spells, Hawke hurtles her flames at the demon. It doesn't affect him, as she knew it would, but the ice she sends in a half ring around her does. Before she has time to celebrate, however, something coarse wraps around her neck and she's being tugged backwards.

Her back hits the top of her stairs and her hands wrap around her own neck, tugging at what she assumes to be rope. She's been lassoed like cattle. Her body bounces again and she finds herself at the bottom of her stairway, choked and gasping for air. When she attempts to stand the rope is pulled again and she is tugged forward, skidding across the expensive carpet her mother made her order from Antiva.

"That's quite far enough," an oddly charming voice barks from her study. Hawke looks up towards the sound, only to find herself surrounded by Qunari. Perhaps they're here to avenge their Arishok, but that doesn't seem right. A boot comes hard and fast down on her forehead and even through the pain Hawke's only grateful that her skull wasn't crushed in. Her vision swims, then clears, and she realizes it's even worse than Qunari. They're _Tal-Vashoth._ She knows how to reason with Qunari, even understand them on some level, but with Tal-Vashoth she is lost.

The voice from her study, a human one, she guesses, sounds even closer the next time he speaks. "Use the magebane, _but keep it away from me!_"

"Come here, little sarebaas," one of the Tal-Vashoth croons to her in his rough voice. He blows a handful (or clawful) of dirt into her face and she sneezes reflexively.

_Enough_. Hawke grabs a piece of the rope tethering her to one of the Tal-Vashoth and she uses her fire to burn through it. Once she stands she ignores the strange burning sensation in the back of her throat and turns to electrocute the qunari that caught her with the rope in the first place.

As the spell sputters to life she knows immediately something is very wrong. The human laughs as her spell refuses to go any further and the lightning turns to her. She screams and falls to the floor, curling into herself as her own electricity courses through her.

_Magebane_. Oh, Maker, she is a fool. Her father had warned her of its uses, but no templar she knew was allowed to carry it. Even the Chantry with all their Tranquil saw some things as too cruel to use on mages.

She is without magic thanks to the magebane, but she is not weaponless, yet. Rebel throws himself off the stairs and into one of the qunari. There are more than they can fight, Hawke knows this, but there is always a chance for escape. Less so without her magic, but she's always been an optimist.

The human speaks once more. "Kill the mutt." Hawke screams again as a qunari spear pierces her mabari and he falls over, still.

She no longer focuses on escape. Instead she lunges at the man with the intent to _rip his bloody head off._

Unfortunately the Tal-Vashoth leap into action, two of them grabbing her arms and lifting her in the air. She dangles in their hold and curses. The one human among them steps forward until his smirking face is just inches from hers.

"I've heard a lot about you, Marian Hawke. And, no, it doesn't surprise me that you'd leap to the defense of a _dog_. It was this behavior that led me to take care of you first, before I retrieve my little wolf."

Little wolf? Oh, no. No, no, no. _Danarius_. It's bloody Danarius. Had he followed Varania to Kirkwall? Is Varania in _league_ with him? The latter thought makes her feel ill, but she knows there is no use wasting time thinking about how he came to be in Kirkwall. She needs to save her energy for making sure Fenris got to tear out his heart.

Though the magebane has burned her throat severely, she forces out, "He's going to _kill_ you."

The mage keeps smiling and nods to one of the qunari. "I paid these men _a lot _of coin to have them perform a service for you. Normally I wouldn't condone their barbarianism on another mage, but as a Ferelden you're just as barbaric as the qunari so I suppose it's fitting."

She spits on him, unable to do much else. At least it causes his smile to fade and he pulls out a dark red cloth to wipe the spittle away.

"Take her back upstairs and do what I paid you to." His eyes turn to her dog's body. "And clean that shit up. It's starting to smell."

_What _did_ that bastard pay them to do?_ Her mind whirls, going immediately to dark, dark places, and she fights against her captors. Then she sees a glint of silver in the low light and finds one of the Tal-Vashoth has a large stitching needle.

She recalls Ketojan and his collar and his stitched together mouth.

She has never figured herself for a screamer, but it seems that this will be one of her last chances to utter _any_ kind of sound.

* * *

><p>She isn't here. Fenris paces, a habit he's never bothered to break. He wonders if he told Hawke the wrong day or if this is just simply payback. She <em>leaves<em> him at his most vulnerable. It would be ironic. And _fair_, he thinks, remembering the night he had walked out on her.

No, Hawke, she... She was better than him. She wouldn't walk away from him now. After so long. After...

He's unsure now. Varania is inside the Hanged Man, waiting for him, but he doesn't want to meet her yet. Not without Hawke. He has others with him, sure. His paranoia ensures that. But Varric, Aveline, and Sebastian are very simply not _Hawke_.

_Where are you?_

"We're, uh, wasting daylight here," Varric suddenly announces. Fenris stares at him. "Look, Broody, she wouldn't miss this if she could help it. She has a reason for not being here. I know Hawke."

"I know."

The Guard-Captain nods in agreement. Sebastian gently touches Fenris's shoulder, who jerks away from the contact and says, calmly, "The rest of us are here behind you. We'll stand in for Hawke."

He considers running. Really considers it. He'd rather leave Varania to wait while he tracks down Hawke and demands to know why she wasn't there for him. But in his heart he cannot blame her and he slowly turns to enter the Hanged Man's doorway.

* * *

><p>A few words from a sister he barely recalls and Fenris realizes he's been betrayed. By the only flesh and blood he has left. It stings like nothing else, but there is a familiarity underneath the hurt. He has been prepared for this, expecting it even.<p>

But Sebastian, Aveline, and Varric are good, honest (well, Varric was honest at times) and will not let Fenris be taken so easily. And, Fenris thinks, if Isabela is in her room she'll join in as well. If only so she could loot the bodies later. As long as he gets to end Danarius, Fenris is happy to let her.

Danarius steps down from the Hanged Man's upper rooms and Fenris forces himself not to move backwards an inch. But he is afraid. He _knows_ that face and how to read it. Danarius was normally smug and arrogant, but Fenris had learned quickly to tell when Danarius had devised some new torment for him.

It will be different this time. It has to be or Fenris will be certain that there is no Maker or Creator or any god at all. He has friends this time. A guardswoman and a Chantry brother will never stand for slavery. Neither will Varric. And Hawke-

Isn't here.

Danarius speaks and Fenris _hates _how he still snaps to attention to listen. "I have found you, my little wolf. I think it's high time that we get you back to Tevinter, don't you?"

"Slavery is illegal in Kirkwall, Magister," Aveline warns, her guard training coming to light. "You have no authority here."

"Not over the law, perhaps," Danarius surprisingly agrees. "But over him? Over my Fenris? Yes, yes I do. It's not illegal if he willingly comes with me, guardswoman."

"I'm not your slave, Danarius," Fenris's words are more of a growl. Danarius still brings out his more animalistic nature. _Damn_ him. Damn _Hawke_.

Danarius is still in agreement. "I had heard you had a new master. But I think you'll find that she is in no shape to be commanding anyone."

Varric realizes it first. "_No_."

From inside one of the upper rooms, two qunari emerge and Fenris can't understand why they would aid a Tevinter. Aveline comes up with the answer.

"Tal-Vashoth."

So Danarius bought two qunari bodyguards. As if that would keep Fenris from finally having his master's still beating heart in his hands. His grip on the sword Hawke gave him tightens and his body tenses into a familiar fighting stance. He's deciding who to attack first when the qunari bring her out.

For a minute he can't comprehend what he's seeing due to the sheer _wrongness_ of it. There is Hawke, right where she said she'd be. But the small, chained thing in front of him _can't_ be the same woman that toppled a dragon just because he had said it was a bad idea.

There is a collar on her and Fenris's own throat constricts as he remembers that choking feeling. But her collar is heavy and made for someone much larger than herself.

Her eyes are still on the ground at Danarius's feet and for awhile Fenris is spared the worst of it. And then she looks at him.

Her mouth has been clumsily stitched shut, the area around her lips still raw and bleeding. Without being able to see inside her mouth Fenris knows her tongue is gone. Cut out by one of the qunari at his former master's side. The same tongue that had so gently pressed against his after he had barged into her home, aching for her.

The tongue that told jokes at importune times. That clicked against the roof of her mouth when she was thinking. The tongue she sometimes stuck out at him when she was in a considerably playful mood.

He thinks, _this is my fault. _He thinks that if Hawke had her tongue still she'd be doing everything she could to convince him that it _wasn't_.

Then Fenris thinks of Ketojan, the qunari mage that Chantry sister had them escort. And he knows why Danarius paid for the services of the Tal-Vashoth.

"Sarebaas," one of the qunari says flatly. "Bas sarebaas."

It gets worse. He didn't think it could, but Fenris has been very wrong before.

A control rod. Danarius has Hawke's control rod. When he tells her to kneel, smiling sweetly at Fenris all the while, she doesn't immediately comply. Danarius does something to the rod and suddenly Hawke is on the floor, writhing in pain and completely silent. Fenris nearly hopes that she'll withstand what is being done to her. That Hawke, his prime example of someone who was completely free in everything she did and said, would show Danarius that he cannot control everyone.

It's when she finally does kneel that Fenris goes to her.

Uncharacteristically, Sebastian is yelling at Danarius, telling him exactly where the Maker will send him. Fenris is aware that he is speaking but his attention is focused now on Hawke. She won't look at him. She doesn't think he can take it. He's not sure he can, either.

"I can kill her with this, you know." Danarius indicates the control rod in his hand.

"Don't," Fenris says and he knows it is over. Danarius has power over him again and this time it is _his own damn fault._

Hawke hears the resignation in his voice and her eyes burn into his, trying to say "don't you dare". But he can do nothing else. Hawke has been maimed because of her connection to him; he will not have her dead as well.

Danarius smiles. He knows he has him.

He doesn't know Hawke.

Hawke suddenly sits up, shoving Fenris away in the process. She fights her way to her feet, the struggle evident in the pained grunts she manages to push past her stitched lips.

Fenris thinks of Ketojan again as Hawke throws herself around Danarius's waist and sets them both aflame.


	3. Herbalism

**Herbalism**

**Dragon Age: Origins**

**Morrigan/Alistair**

**Written for bshea2015**

**Summary: **_Warden Cousland is poisoned and Morrigan and Alistair go off in search of herbs with which to cure him._

* * *

><p>Aedan Cousland tore off the stopper to his wineskin and took a long, relieving drink. Behind him Alistair and Morrigan were finally catching up to their newly appointed leader. Aedan could hear them bickering again and he ground his teeth together. Would they ever <em>stop<em>? If it was simply sexual tension causing these bloody arguments Aedan would have gladly given them some privacy, but he somehow doubted even that would help.

Aedan stood, watching them approach and stomped down hard on a still twitching darkspawn skull. "It's about damn time," Aedan said grimly. "I had to fight these monsters all on my own, not that I'm complaining."

"Darkspawn?" Alistair asked, reaching for his sword.

"Just a few stragglers," he assured them both. "It's been taken care of. What were you two doing back there anyway? Arguing about the color of the sky or something else equally as unimportant?"

Morrigan sniffed. "This fool was asking about my mother. A topic I do not wish to discuss."

"I was simply curious. She did save us back in-"

"Ostagar," Aedan finished for him. "Got it. I'm all caught up now. Now, can we move this along before-" With a surprised grunt, Aedan stumbled forward and fell, his eyes glowing a light blue. An arrow protruded from his back, having found its way through a chink in his heavy armor.

Morrigan took her staff and electrocuted the remaining darkspawn archer before turning back to Aedan and Alistair. The almost templar was removing Aedan's armor. Once that was done Morrigan pushed Alistair away and inspected the wound. She was able to remove the arrow, but that provided them with little relief. "Tis poisoned," Morrigan observed, inspecting the arrowhead. "Though it is one I am familiar with."

"Poison?" Aedan asked. He rolled his eyes and laughed weakly. "That's a new one. Haven't been poisoned yet."

"Nor have I." Morrigan replied, digging around in her pack.

"Yes, we're all very surprised by that," Alistair said sarcastically. "Who would want to poison _you_?"

"Can you stop insulting each other and focus on the real issue here? The possible death of your respected, handsome leader seems like it should take precedence."

"Hmm." Morrigan bandaged the wound. "That will help for now, but what you need is an antidote. Luckily for you there are the herbs I require in the woods surrounding us. You both wait here and I shall-"

"Oh, no you don't. How do we know you'll come back? I'll accompany you," Alistair volunteered, standing up.

"You truly think I would abandon you both so soon? We have barely spent a day together." Morrigan glared at Alistair. "You'd rather we leave our leader unprotected?"

"I can handle myself-"

"That poison will soon leave you helpless," the witch answered abruptly. "Let me go on and Alistair can stay here and keep any enemies at bay."

Alistair didn't look comfortable with that, which Aedan understood. If Aedan died, it was left to Alistair to lead them and save Ferelden from the Blight. Leading was not Alistair's strong point. As far as Aedan could tell, corny jokes were Alistair's strong point. The Warden whistled and his mabari came charging to his side. "Here, boy," he said and looked to Morrigan. "Be quick and take Alistair with you. My mabari will watch over me."

Morrigan rolled her eyes over the sound of the dog's happy barking. "You are probably better off that way. Come, Alistair. Ask about my mother again and the Warden won't be able to stop me from electrocuting you."

"Just don't _kill_ each other, please?" Aedan requested, sighing as the two vanished into the trees. "Maker." He scratched his mabari between the ears. "Good thing I have you, right, boy?"

A squirrel skittered along the path and just like that Aedan's mabari was gone, chasing after the small mammal. "This treachery is ironic, considering I have raised you from a pup to be absolutely loyal." Aedan laid his sword across his lap and prayed that Morrigan didn't do anything _too_ unnatural to Alistair.

"Tis wise of him—keeping the more intelligent of his pets beside him," Morrigan was saying as she knelt down to study a plant.

Alistair scoffed. "Are you implying that the _dog_ is smarter than I am?"

"Your having to ask what I meant only proves my previous statement to be correct."

The ex-templar gritted his teeth and glanced about him. "What sort of herb are we looking for?"

"One that will ease the Warden's passing. There's no cure for that poison. I'm looking for something that will end it for him quickly. Otherwise it will be messy." Morrigan began cutting off a few leaves from the plant. "I hope you are ready to end the blight yourself. You will be the hero of Ferelden in about...oh, about twenty minutes."

Alistair was silent as he watched Morrigan mash the plant remains into a dark green paste. When she finished and looked up, Alistair was sitting on the ground, emptily staring past her. "Fool, get up. I'm done here." When he failed to respond Morrigan jabbed at his chest plate with her staff. "I was only joking, Alistair, there is no need for such obvious _drama_."

"Lead an army. Me. Lead an army. All those people following _my_ orders. I...I can't. Oh, I'm sweating. I can't _lead_. Maker, they're all looking at me-"

The witch abruptly took a step back. "You must be _joking_."

"_I thought I told you not to kill him!" _Aedan didn't ask for much. He really didn't. "Look at him! His eyes are glazed over!"

"He is simply...catatonic. That is all." Morrigan distracted Aedan by smearing the green paste into his poisoned wound. "I _may_ have told him you were going to die, but it was all in the spirit of fun."

Aedan groaned and rubbed his temples. "Your definition of fun disturbs me."

There was a helpless moan from behind them. "I can't _lead_."

Aedan slowly turned to Morrigan and glared until she relented, throwing up her hands an walking back to the road. "Fine! _I_ will be the one that spoon feeds him!"


	4. Cat Nap

**Cat Nap**

**Dragon Age: Awakening - AndersXNathaniel**

**Written for theharbingerofjustice**

**Prompt: **_Short, cuddling scene between Anders and Nathaniel._

* * *

><p>Nathaniel heard a soft purr and groaned, burying his face in his pillow. The Warden had taken her entire party out for training and had worked them to near death. He wanted <em>sleep<em>, not to deal with Anders' bloody cat. Wherever the cat went, Anders was sure to follow.

"Ser Pounce?"

Nathaniel cursed the Maker and tried to feign sleep. Anders was the only one still full of energy. Anders claimed he had twisted his ankle tripping over a darkspawn corpse, though Nathaniel suspected the mage had more than likely tripped over his own robes. So Anders had been pardoned from training and sent to the library to study. Nathaniel quickly prayed that Ser Pounce-A-Lot and Anders would keep on walking.

Soft footsteps padded next to Nathaniel's ear and the purring grew louder. Nathaniel lifted his head and met the yellow eyes of Ser Pounce. "Oh, Maker _dammit_."

"There you are, Ser Pounce!" Anders cooed. "Come on. Leave Howe alone. There's a nice, warm spot in my bed."

"Anders, just take your cat and go. Pick. It. Up. And. _Leave_."

Anders shook his head, his blond hair loose and in his face. "I can't do that. Ser Pounce sleeps where he wants."

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes at the cat in his bed before he finally relented. "Fine. The cat can stay. You, however, need to go."

Anders flopped on the bed next to him, leaving Ser Pounce between them. "No can do. Where Ser Pounce sleeps, I sleep. Night, Howe. Sweet dreams."

"What in the Maker's name do you think you are doing?" Nathaniel sat up again. "Get out of my bed. I'll call the Warden's dog on you, I swear I will."

Nathaniel felt Anders shiver. "You wouldn't." He yanked more covers to his side. "And relax, will you? We're just two comrades and a cat. Sleeping together. Nothing wrong with that."

Nathaniel's icy blue eyes stared Anders down until he simply gave up. "If you wake me up _once_ with sleep talk or any such nonsense and I will shoot you."

"Hear that, Ser Pounce? We're-"

"_Anders_. Enough."

"Sorry, sorry. Well, sweet dreams!"

"You said that."

Shutting his eyes tightly, Nathaniel tried to sleep despite the headache that was forming. All was well, until one of Anders' legs hooked around one of Nathaniel's. His eyes sprang open, just in time to see Ser Pounce-A-Lot leap off the bed and vanish from the room. Several options flashed through Nathaniel's mind; wake Anders up gently, throw him out, or try to make up for time he had already lost and just go to sleep right then.

Anders started snoring, the seemingly last straw. Nathaniel turned over and grabbed a fistful of Anders' robes, fully prepared to toss the mage out into the hall. Instead the mage made a little yawn and threw an arm over the rogue. Nathaniel let him go in shock. He was being _snuggled_.

"_Maker, Anders._" Nathaniel muttered. At least the snoring had stopped. He settled in again and waited for sleep to claim him as this mage had.

"Night, Howe."

"You're _awake_? Just…just shut up. This didn't happen. This-this was an act of desperation from lack of sleep. I-"

"Maker, Howe, can't a man get any sleep around here? Andraste's _knickerweasels._"


	5. Consequences of a Cure

**Consequences of a Cure**

**Dragon Age II**

**F!Hawk/Anders**

**Written for lanawinst**

**Prompt: **You are a mage and managed to snatch a potion from the Black Emporium that you believe can free Anders from Justice with some adjustment. Will you do it? Behind his back? And what of the potential dire consequences of using such means?

**A/N: **Since this was supposed to be a drabble I tried to keep it short, but...it got out of hand. Also, it wasn't supposed to end the way it did. It escalated quickly. I am sorry. I tried. If you want to feel warm and fuzzy, please scroll on.

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><p>"And <em>what<em> would I want this for?" Marian Hawke eyed the potion in her hands and pulled off the stopper, sniffing at the contents.

"It's what you _need_," the vendor assured her, smiling wickedly. Marian's eyes narrowed at him and his shady enterprise. The man shrank back and added rather quickly, "Kirkwall's underworld knows about your mage friend. The one with the Justice "problem". It makes many of us nervous."

Marian snapped at him, suddenly defensive, "I'm the one that should be making you nervous. What is this potion, then? Poison?"

"Your friend Anders may see it as such, but no." The man began gathering up his wares. "That will remove the crazy from the mage. Well, most of the crazy. The Justice part of the crazy. Slip a bit of that into his drink and you'll have Anders all to yourself. Finally."

Marian glared steadily at him, remembering how many times Anders had said that he and Justice could never be separated, that they were one. The vendor recoiled and nodded at the bottle. "Take it. It's on the house. Just promise that you'll use it."

"I _promise_ that I won't turn you into anything unnatural if you leave me now."

The vendor hurried away, dragging his wares behind him. Marian was left in the dark, studying the potion in her hand and noticing for the first time the Black Emporium seal. Marian quickly stuffed it into her pack, thankful she hadn't brought any of her other companions along.

The "cure" weighed on her thoughts all night. After further inspection she realized that the vendor had been partially right. The cure would "fix" Anders, after a few adjustments. Marian had no idea yet whether she would use the potion, but she spent all night tweaking it until she was satisfied. Marian hid the bottle away and returned to her bed where Anders was sleeping somewhat soundly. Sliding in next to him, Marian faced the wall and slept. Her dreams were no comfort. The demons of the fade always seemed able to sense her distress and flocked to her. A desire demon was the bravest and sauntered to her, smirking winningly. "You have a _cure_ for your lover? How good for you. With Justice gone perhaps you'll finally be the first in someone's affections. Maker knows you aren't Ander's first priority and you weren't the elf's either."

Marian tried shutting the demon out but tonight her concentration was off. "Fenris had his bitter past and Ander's has Justice. You always came in second-"

She tired of these games. Marian forced herself awake and out of the fade. Anders stirred, but stayed unconscious while Marian went to the cure's hiding place. Without stopping to consider the consequences she took a lyrium potion from Anders' pack, dumped out half the contents and replaced it with the rest of the cure. She stood with the potion uncertainly for a good hour until she heard Anders moving around upstairs. Making up her mind, Marian stashed the cure back with the rest of Anders' things and waited for him to come downstairs.

"You're up early," he commented, yawning. "You have a mission for us already? Not that I'm surprised." Anders stretched his arms as he walked down the main staircase. He kissed Marian's cheek, his scruff brushing against her face.

"I want to check on the Bone Pit. I told the worker's I'd check on them." Marian watched Anders' stuff his face with breakfast. Watching him she was comforted. This was Anders. This was how he should be. Justice was becoming unstable, a threat to all of them. To Kirkwall. Separating them was the right decision. "Meet me at the Hanged Man. I'm bringing along Varric today. I'll grab Fenris on the way."

"And I thought this was going to be a _good_ morning," Anders complained at the mention of Fenris.

"When _you_ can swing a greatsword, let me know. I'm not going into a potential battle without a warrior." Marian walked out, wincing as Sandal smeared pie across his face.

Fenris was willing enough to help, though Marian knew the Bone Pit made him uneasy. He had only needed a few minutes to prepare and they were off. His red arm band was there still, bloody in the daylight. It bothered Marian whenever she saw it, but she had learned to ignore it. "Fenris," she began.

"Hawke."

"I'm going to remove Justice from Anders."

"Through some means of magic, I presume?" Fenris didn't question her judgment. Marian knew he would see it as a necessary move as well. "You can rid him of his abomination?"

"I believe so." Marian let Fenris open the door of the Hanged Man for her and headed up to Varric's room. Anders arrived soon enough and they walked together to the Bone Pit. Once again, Marian envied the Orlesians and their horses.

"It's quiet, Hawke," Fenris observed, frowning. "Unless your workers decided to all go on break at once, we have a problem."

As if on cue, a dragon flew over head and screamed, flames shooting from its mouth. "_There's_ our problem," Marian pointed out. "And it seems a bit..._larger_ than normal."

Varric sighed. "Larger usually means more fun but in _this_ case-"

"Oh, no. In this case this _is_ more fun." Marian ran ahead of them, racing to strike the first blow.

The battle went downhill quickly. The dragon had bred and her babies were just as vicious as she was. Marian did what she could healing-wise, but she focused on offensive spells. So when Fenris called for healing, Anders downed a lyrium potion in order to performed the spell.

Newly revived, Fenris distracted the high dragon so Marian could get in close and finish it off with a spell. Marian jumped out of the way of the falling dragon and grinned triumphantly at Anders. He gave her a tired smile before he too fell to the ground.

"Anders?" Marian froze and Varric and Fenris turned to see what she was going on about.

Anders was on the ground, twitching. His eyes were glowing a faint blue when Marian reached him. She seemed afraid to touch him. "Anders, it's okay. I'm here." She had prepared herself for this, that the potion would hurt. "Take this." She tried to give Angers a pain relieving draught he had made for her headaches. Living in Kirkwall caused her migraines daily.

"_What_? What's going on?" Anders searched her face for an answer, reaching for the medication.

Fenris stood nearby and answered. "The abomination is being torn from you. Consider yourself lucky that this only causes a little bit of pain and not your life, mage."

"What was that, Broody?" Varric asked in shock. "I'm not used to being out of the loop."

Marian helped Anders take the draught. "It was me. I did this. For your own good," she told Anders stiffly. "You told me if I could separate you and Justice that you'd let me."

He spat out the drink. "And you didn't consult me _first_, Hawke?" Anders stared at her until the pain caused him to wince in pain. "Andraste's _knickers_, this hurts. Hawke...It really...I can't..." Anders' eyes widened as the blue from them faded, leaving just his own, warm brown eyes.

Marian held him and tried to calm him down. "It's okay. It's _working_." It was scary how surprised she was at that. Normally everything she did went horribly wrong.

"_Hawke_," Varric interrupted. "What have you done?"

She ignored him and focused on Anders. The pain wasn't going away. With a angry shout Justice took over one last time. "_How dare you, woman! I am here to help your kind! To end this injustice being done-"_ Anders spit up blood and just like that Justice was gone. But Anders continued to vomit blood, even though Justice had been successfully exorcized.

"No," Hawke breathed and then screamed, "_Anders_!"

Anders eyelids flickered and he watched her in fear. "The pain's not stopping, Hawke."

"I...know," she admitted at last. Marian took his hand and squeezed it. "I'll fix it. I'll fix it," she repeated. "Fenris, help me carry him. Quickly."

Fenris obeyed, but Anders shoved him off with the strength he had remaining. "No, I'm dying. I can feel it. Hawke, I have to-" Anders grabbed Hawke's collar and kissed her hard. She could taste his blood but that didn't matter right then. He saw her and his eyes weren't clouded, they were solely his own. No Justice, or Vengeance as he had become. Just Anders and Hawke.

Anders struggled to get out his last words. "The _mages_, Hawke. Protect the apostates for me. Please. Free them."

Marian nodded fervently to assure him, though she was still planning on how to save him. Her plans fell apart as he died.

He had no more last words for her. Just "free the mages". The words of the desire demon taunted her even then, as Varric and Fenris peeled her away from his body.

_You always came in second._

Days after the private funeral (the chantry did not perform funeral rights for apostates), Hawke scoured the underworld for the vendor that hold sold her the "cure". It did not take long for someone to rat him out to the respectable Serah Hawke.

"You sold me poison."

He never tried to deny it. "He was _dangerous_. For us. For mages. Everyone. It was only a matter of time before-"

Marian didn't let him finish. She struck him with the butt of her staff, silencing him. The other underworlders came and made off with his wares. She didn't stop them. Unconscious the man would not last long, especially not in Kirkwall's underworld. She left him there, letting fate take care of the rest. She would not be the hand of Death that night. She would not.


	6. Not All Chains Are Iron

**Dragon Age: Inquisition**

**Cullen/Inquisitor Trevelyan (can be read as male or female)**

**Summary: **_Cullen travels to investigate the Inquisitor's Circle for abuse after seeing how far the templars had fallen. _

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><p>As Circle's go, it was rather visually appealing. The grounds had once been well cared for, that much was obvious, and thus far the mage-templar war had left the area surprisingly untouched. No obvious signs of abuse or neglect, and above all, no statues of tortured slaves looming over the site. Where the Inquisitor had studied magic was definitely no Kirkwall and Cullen could not stop the sharp sign of relief from escaping his lips. He had worried, and for good reason. If Meredith could fall so far, others were not immune.<p>

It was easy enough to make an excuse to travel to the Free Marches. Preserving what knowledge remained inside the abandoned Circle towers was not only a priority of Vivienne's, but of the Inquisitor's as well. So it was with Trevelyan's blessing and a small escort of his men that Cullen had left for Ostwick. His true intention, a quick, private glimpse into the Inquisitor's past, would remain secret and why not? He would return with whatever tomes or books remained. Any other knowledge he would gain along with that needn't be shared. He just wanted something to quiet the fears that men like Samson and templars like him had brought unapologetically roaring to life.

Cullen sent his men to search the tower for any knowledge that may aid the Inquisition. Tomes on healing and protection were to be their top priority. As for himself he set to wandering the walls, not yet knowing what he was looking for.

There were two barracks for the mages, separated by gender as was the standard. After some quick searching he found a bunk with more elaborate sheets and quilting than the others. As the daughter of a noble family, the Inquisitor may have received special treatment. Cullen did a little snooping and sure enough he found a piece of slate nailed to the foot of the bed with the Inquisitor's first name written neatly in chalk. Nothing else caught his eye; he assumed the Inquisitor had taken whatever personal items had previously been there with them when they had left.

He moved on, well, down would be more accurate. Cullen noticed that the Circle was considerably less cared for in other, more private places as he ventured down flight after flight of stairs. When he stopped he wasn't certain how to feel. The basement, dungeon others might have named it, was similar to the one in Kirkwall, though on a much smaller scale.

The room was rather barren and dark save for the torchlight he carried with him. No obvious torture devices loomed out of the darkness. There were only beds inside, beds with leather straps dangling from posts. This was not good or bad. Cullen recalled that such bunks were held in Kirkwall for purely safety reasons. Mages often reacted to fear with violence, but that violence wasn't always at their so called captors. When he had explained to Hawke back in his Kirkwall days that mages sometimes had to be protected from _themselves_, his meaning had been misconstrued.

One such bed held a small, leather bound journal on it's surface and after thumbing through the first couple of entries Cullen found something worth reading.

_Remind me to report Giroux. Old bastard is loosing his touch with the mages. Caught him telling a kid, just a child, that if they were weak they'd turn into a bloody demon. Can't we save that talk until they can at least lace their boots on their own? Next day one of the older mages fails the Harrowing and gets loose, the kids sees it and falls into a panic attack. Kid says the Maker hates demons and doesn't want the Maker to hurt 'em. We can't get the kid to calm down for nothing or stop thrashing so Giroux binds the kid to a table and puts me on guard duty. It's a load of-_

He stops reading and replaces the journal back on the bed when something glimmers in his peripheral. A small gold chain is caught in one of the straps. After some work Cullen pulls it free and lets it pool into his palm.

The length of the chain is so small that he imagines it could only fit a child. It's only ornament is a small Chantry symbol in gold. He pockets it and thinks nothing more.

The Inquisitor is chuckling as they help Cullen pick up the scattered pieces of parchments and knick-knacks he had flung off his desk in a comic gesture of passion just hours before. He had been sure that something from his desks (and probably something important) had slipped through one of the cracks in the floorboard. Cullen could see something glittering in the cracked wood but was unable to reach it. And as the Inquisitor's fingers had just proven more nimble than his own, Cullen had enlisted their help in procuring it.

"Almost..._got it_. Just a moment," Trevelyan mutters absently before they quickly pluck out the gold bracelet from the circle. The Inquisitor studies it, intrigued, before standing up again. "There you are, Commander."

"Thank you, Inquisitor," he quips, reaching out to take the bracelet back before the Inquisitor suddenly clutches the chain to their chest, amusement gone and shock taking over their features.

His stomach drops as the Inquisitor's next words are, "How did you _find_ this? I thought I lost this years ago."


End file.
